Ransom
Darroch strode to the front of the crowd gathered on the shore. Isabel noted he raised only one arm above his head as a signal to the galley out in the calm waters of the bay. The injured elbow was still tightly bandaged and, evidently, he didn’t want to risk further damage. He showed no fear though he stood alone amidst his enemies.
Except he wasn’t alone. They weren’t yet married, but she knew in her heart she would always stand by this strong man, and that he would do the same for her. Ghalla’s treachery had served to unite and strengthen them.
A man on the galley returned the wave and the vessel moved slowly to shore. As it floated closer, Isabel saw lines of concern on the face of the sailor at the prow. Behind him in the belly of the boat, she noticed a few bleating sheep.
“Grig,” Darroch shouted. “Bring her in.”
“Ye’re certain the MacRains will set ye free?” came the reply.
“Aye. They’re men of their word.”
As the galley touched bottom, Isabel moved to stand next to Darroch and laid a hand on his injured arm. She wanted him, and her fellow clan members, to understand she supported him. “They’ve brought sheep,” she said lamely.
His warmth seeped into her as he covered her hand with his. “Aye. Seems yer clan wanted back what we stole. Canny.”
His man jumped down into the shallows and waded towards them, shaking hands with Darroch when he reached the beach. He swallowed hard, obviously stricken with remorse. “Forgive me, my laird. We waited as long as we could, but feared the worst when ye didna come.”
Darroch slapped his clansman on the back. “Dinna fash. ’Tis good to see ye and, truth be told, ’twas the best thing that could have happened. Let me introduce my betrothed, Lady Isabel MacRain.”
“Grig,” she said softly. “Pleased to meet ye.”
The old sailor stared at her, mouth agape, then looked back at Darroch. “But…I thought…”
Darroch smiled. “I’ll explain later. Let’s get yer cargo unloaded then we can be away back to Ywst. I expect Kyla is pining.”
“Aye. The lass misses ye something fierce.”
This was a side of her betrothed Isabel had known nothing about. His obvious love for his bairn, and she for him, only intensified her conviction the future held promise. He would be a good father to their offspring. The prospect of bearing his children brought on a dizzying spell of joy.
He spoke to his captain, his voice penetrating her contentment. “What have ye fetched?”
“What they asked for. The return of their own sheep, firewood, shearing tools, nails, timber, and buckets o’ whitewash—that was a challenge, I’ll tell ye.”
Hammond and a handful of his neighbors came down to the water. “We’ll give yer men a hand to unload everything,” he said, “but ye canna use that arm yet, laddie.”
Darroch shrugged off Grig’s solicitous frown. “’Tis naught. I’m on the mend, thanks to Hammond here, and Fanny’s hearty oatmeal.”
*
Darroch watched the unloading of the ransom supplies. Fanny appeared with Cù and quickly took charge of shepherding the sheep back to their respective owners.
Isabel clung to his arm all the while, the swell of her breast against his bicep filling him with a sense of completion. He was in enemy territory, but it was exactly where he was supposed to be, with the right woman at his side. “I came to this island with vengeance in my heart,” he confessed, gathering her closer against the chill.
“The thirst for revenge consumed me, as weel,” she replied, “along with a dread I’d be forced to wed Tremaine.”
He cupped her face in his hands. “’Twas our destiny that we meet here, Isabel. And this is where we can ensure Tremaine ne’er becomes yer husband.”
She blinked in confusion. “What do ye mean?”
He brushed a kiss on her lips, resisting the urge to coax them open with his tongue. “Wed with me now, before we leave.”
She frowned. “But we’re sailing with the tide.”
The conviction that they were destined to marry on Harris overrode his desire to return immediately to Ywst. “Tur Chliamainn is right here.”
“But there hasna been a priest there for nigh on a hundred years. I doubt there’s a Catholic within a hundred miles.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Ye must have an elder on the island, a presbyter who can say the words. The banns have already been read and ’tis accepted our fathers approved. We can marry this afternoon and sail for Ywst on the morrow.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “I suppose folk might talk if I sail with ye, except as yer wife.”
His hopes rose. “Aye. And besides, ye’re dressed for it.”
She looked down at her outfit and laughed. “Weel, it’s nay exactly the gown I had in mind to wear to my wedding, and it’s a wee bit the worse for wear, but I burned the first one.”
He laughed with her, then played the card he thought would carry the argument. “Ye said yon outfit belonged to yer mam?”
Instead, tears welled. “I need to tell ye that I have a brother. By rights, he’ll be chief o’ the clan one day. If God sees fit to give us a healthy son…”
“He’ll be a MacKeegan chief,” he replied. “I admit I didna ken ye have a brother, but I’m relieved Rory has an heir.”
“My father doesna recognize Ian as his son,” she murmured, eyes downcast. “He’s nearly five. My mother died shortly after birthing him. He lives with Uncle Boyd.”
“And I suppose Ghalla helped convince yer da Ian wasna his bairn?”
She nodded. “Which is ridiculous. He looks like a miniature version of my father.”
He smiled, hoping to reassure her. His own father had taught him how tangled emotions could become. “I look forward to meeting him.”
*
By the time Fanny returned to the bay, the goods had been unloaded from the galley and stacked on shore. Innes and Darroch were busy assigning crews from both clans to ferry the building materials to the burned-out croft.
Fanny bent over, hands on hips, trying to catch her breath. “I was afraid ye’d be gone,” she panted.
“I wouldna leave without saying goodbye,” Isabel replied, crossing her fingers in the hopes she’d be able to convince the auld woman. “Besides, Darroch and I have a notion to get wed before we leave.”
Fanny’s eyes widened. “Here? On Harris?”
“Aye. This afternoon. At Tur Chliamainn.”
Fanny chewed a thumbnail. “’Tis a wonderful idea, but I doot Hammond will consent.”
She might have known the bonesetter was also the local lay preacher. “I realize he’ll balk at performing the ceremony in a Catholic church.”
Fanny snorted. “Aye! Calvinist to the bone. Pray he ne’er discovers my still.”
Isabel wondered briefly what witch’s brew her relative concocted in a still, and where such a thing could be hidden. However, determined not to be deterred, she persevered. “Perhaps if we convince him it’s a suitable place because it was built as a mausoleum for the MacRain chiefs, and I’m the daughter o’ the current chief. It’s an historical site rather than a religious one.”
Fanny tapped her chin. “He’d be honoring the memory o’ the chiefs.”
That wasn’t exactly what Isabel had in mind, but her cousin seemed to be in favor of the plan. “He would,” she replied.
“And it hasna been used as a church for many a year.”
“Right.”
“I’ll speak to him,” Fanny assured her. “Go get ready.”
She pecked a kiss on Fanny’s red cheek and hurried off to tell Darroch the deed was as good as done.